"Mmm, do you wish to revisit that?" Jack had been beautiful, twisting and aching and keening under his hands with every twist and flick of the slim pick of metal inside him. Had Zevran been a weaker man he'd have tied him to the bed to repeat the performance until Jack was a boneless, senseless mass. But now would be just as precious. In fact- he drags his teeth along the tip of Jack's ear as his hand slides out to his toolbelt, set aside for the moment, and draws one out of it's slim sheath.
"Yeah." It's a breath and intention and a bit of a plea, and Jack shifts on the low, narrow bed with a shuddering gasp at the sparking drag of teeth. Almost too much, so close to that edge that it's perfect instead, just like Zevran's always been an expert at. Once they're clear he draws back to nuzzle the angle of his jaw, kiss the soft line of his throat as he swings astride his hips. A position they're both more than familiar enough with, and one that gives him the freedom to shuck his shirt, baring freckle-dappled shoulders and a chest untouched by ink or scar.
"Yes what, gazza?" He murmurs, looping an arm around Jack's waist to support him as they move. It's a subtle thing, the dip of his voice, the weight to his hand, the slow trace of the tip of that pick from the curve of Jack's ear to his jaw o his lips and ever downward. Along his chin and the side of his throat, following the line of his sternum and the slender arcs of his ribs, dipping into his navel.
"Yes Ser." He leans enough weight into the strong arm to bow and watch the little slip of metal trace down the length of his own body, toward the bulge rising in his trousers as Zevran takes his sweet time working his way there. His voice hushes, but there's a deliberate effort to speak properly, too. To speak as he might be bid by a man of status. "An' it please you, Ser."
"Good boy." It's not as soft and sweet and breathless as Jack could be- but they are only beginning. Part of the allure is anticipation and if there is one thing that he can weave like a tapestry- it's anticipation. The faintly curved tip of the pick dips and glides into the lacing of Jack's trousers- loosing the knot and releasing the tension bit by bit, giving just enough pressure to tease the trapped erection below. "It pleases me well, Gazza."
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antivanleather) wrote2015-06-05 09:11 pm
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